


What the Minister Wants

by prolix (shal)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Draco Malfoy, H/D Career Fair 2017, Light Dom/sub, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Minister of Magic Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Personal Assistant Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shal/pseuds/prolix
Summary: It's not Draco's job to think about what he wants, it's his job to think about what the Minister wants.





	What the Minister Wants

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[31](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/124297.html?thread=4844937#t4844937).
> 
> This is my first fic!! Incredibly honored to have written based on a prompt by Capitu, whose recblog I cherish greatly.

All Draco really wants to do is go home, but it's not his job to think about what he wants. It's his job to think about what the Minister wants. 

But, thankfully, at this very moment, the Minister wants to go home.

The man doesn't say this out loud, of course, but Draco can just tell. The way he's always been able to tell. He can see the other man from his desk, can see the tense line of his shoulders, the yawn he bites-back, the quill that's writing a bit slower than usual. He'd like to think that in another life he wouldn't have cared much about how the other man felt but it was late, he was tired, and, as he reminded himself ever-so-often, it was his job to care. He decides to put the man out of his misery by saying, "I think we've done enough for today, haven't we? Let's go home."

He's about to protest, as usual, to say he can read over another memo, send another owl, but Draco stops him, as usual, with a firm, "You wouldn't want to be tired for tomorrow morning's meeting, would you? Let's go."

They play this game every night, and this is Draco's favorite part. The way the other man's mouth snaps shut at the sound of his voice, the way he seems to obey as if he had never protested at all. He feels the rush of power thrumming in his veins and suddenly he isn't so tired anymore. 

He leads the Minister out of the office, taking care to grab a few planners and notebooks off his desk, before signalling their exit to the Aurors guarding the office doors so that they would follow them out. 

They walked through the dimly lit hallways of the Ministry, running into significantly less people than they would've had it not been so late. They sidestepped the Atrium, walking down a more obscure Ministry hallway instead which led to the Minister's Garage. 

It had been Granger's idea, the Garage. It hadn't been necessary before, since none of the former Minister's had attracted so much attention. But it was a brilliant idea, even Draco was forced to admit it. Within the Garage was a muggle cab, layered with a few charms for comfort's sake, which the Minister took home each night. No one knew about it besides the Minister's inner circle, and no one would've expected the Minister of Magic to be riding in a muggle taxi through Muggle-London either, which meant the paparazzi were no longer able harass him on his way to and from his home. It also allowed them to circumvent harassment at the Ministry's designated Apparition Stations (set in place after the addition of anti-apparition wards to the Ministry's post-war security system) and the wretched Public Floo's.

They got to the Garage. The Auror's who had followed them waited for the next shift's guards to arrived. The Minister took the opportunity to speak to them, to ask them about their hopes and dreams or some nonsense like that. Draco stands to the side, busying himself with the notebooks cradled in his arms, scheduling tomorrow's plans. 

The night shift's crew finally arrives, along with the driver, and he slides into the car along with the Minister, who manages to flash him a quick smile before being pulled into the conversation of his home-security team. The car speeds off in the next instant. 

Draco leans his head against the window, enjoying the way the cool glass feels on his skin. The street lights of Muggle-London blurring past him and lulling him into drowsiness. He's had a long day after dealing with a PR scandal all morning all because of Pansy Parkinson who, despite being his dearest friend and editor-in-chief of Witch Weekly, had no fucking mercy when it came to Ministry scandals (even if it was just the Minister having dinner with someone, who, if Pansy had bothered with proper research, would be known as a foreign diplomat rather than a new lover). He also had to deal with the idiotic department heads at the Ministry, who all believed their issues were important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting with the Minister. 

Finally the car stops at the front of Draco's flat. He gives a polite goodbye to the Minister and steps out of the car, making his way to the front steps before apparating up to his living room. He immediately goes into the study to put down his work because he'd rather get some sleep and deal with it in the morning instead of forcing himself to dredge through it now. He's just about to walk out of the room when he hears it, the sharp crack of apparition coming from behind him. 

"Incarcerous!" snaps Draco from his position in the doorway, his wand aimed with a sort of practiced precision—that one only seems to get after living through a war— over his shoulder at the perpetrator that he's sure is standing behind him.

He spins around, just in time to watch the glowing ropes slide onto the other man's wrists, dragging him back towards Draco's desk and tying him to the arms of his chair. The other man struggles, but the ropes don't give— Draco's ropes never give. He recognizes the man instantly in spite of the room's dim lighting, and his breath hitches for a moment, caught in the middle of his throat because the scene in front of him is one he doesn't think he'll forget for a very long time.

The man in front of him is gorgeous but that's not much of a surprise. Black hair. Green eyes. Flushed cheeks. His heart is racing, racing, racing the same way it always had whenever he found himself facing him— the adrenaline running through his veins so, so, so familiar to him now. 

It's Potter. 

Potter, Potter, Potter. Savior of the Wizarding World. Defeater of Dark Lords. Sworn-enemy of a school-aged Draco Malfoy.

_The Minister of Magic._

"Fuck," blurts out Draco, ending the spell immediately. Fear— not guilt— shoots through him at the thought of what he'd just done. Casting an Incarcerous at the Minister of Magic is a guaranteed ticket to Azkaban, he's sure of it. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Potter's guard of aurors to burst through the door and tackle him to the ground (standard protocol in regard to anyone who attacks the Minister), but they never come. Potter doesn't say anything, either— he actually looks rather dazed. Glassy eyes. Short breaths. Trembling hands. Draco is almost concerned, but the cocktail of anger  
and hysteria that emerges from the pits of his mind overpowers any other emotion. 

"What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?" asks Draco, his voice harsh and unforgiving, the voice he used while at work.

That seems to snap Potter out of whatever trance he was in, for he looks up and meets Draco's gaze, eyes still wide and glassy for a fraction of a second before they harden into alertness. His lips curl into an sheepish smile, and all he says is, "Would you believe me if I said I was stressed."

Draco scoffs, and the next few words tumble out of his mouth before he can really think about them, "Everyone gets stressed, Potter, you aren't special, but why did that lead you here? Where are your aurors?" 

"Well, I... I just apparated out of the cab and came here. I just wanted a drink, you know? But I didn't want to have one alone at my place because the aurors would have been there, watching over me, and you know how big of gossips they are! An article about my alcoholism would be published the next day, so, if anything, this benefits you and—"

"—It's fine, Potter," interrupts Draco because he can feel the a headache beginning to form in the base of skull. He was two seconds away from calling the aurors, who are probably frantically searching for their beloved Minister, but the desperation swimming in Potter's eyes was more compelling than he'd like to admit.

"One drink. After that I'm calling your aurors."

“Thanks, Malfoy! I knew I hired you for a good reason,” replies Potter, as enthusiastic as a bloody crup. The smile Potter gives him is blinding. Draco refuses to focus on it for too long, though, and quickly walks out of the room and towards his kitchen in an attempt to avoid the warm sensation he starts to feel within his bones at the sight. 

He lingers in his kitchen trying to process this entire situation, trying to will his speeding heart rate to slow. The most personal thing he had done for the man thus far was scheduling one of his appointments, and suddenly he was about to share a drink with him— something he tended to reserve for guests he was more intimate with. He would've liked to dwell on it for a few more hours, but he had a guest to entertain, and over a decade of lessons in pureblood etiquette had taught him that one must never leave a guest unentertained. He grabs a bottle of Firewhiskey, the better of the two bottles in his liquor cabinet, and a couple of glasses before heading back to the study— back to Potter.

When he go to the study, Potter was looking through his notebooks. Potter didn't bother with looking scandalized after noticing Draco had entered the room, the books, filled with schedules and important letters and to-do lists and forms littered with political jargon, were about the man himself, after all. Instead, the other man sat back in Draco's leather office-chair, lounging in it as if it was his own. The embarrassed and flustered Potter he had left in the room earlier had clearly been replaced by a more confident version, one that was more reminiscent of the employer he worked for. Draco conjures a chair from his living room with his wand and sat down, pouring their drinks and handing one to Potter.

"Thanks," murmurs Potter, taking his drink from Draco. His movements were slow, languid, not unlike molasses. He takes a quick sip before putting it down on the desk behind him.

"So," began Potter suddenly, "why did you choose to become my personal assistant?" 

Draco nearly drops his glass of whiskey on the floor in shock. He fumbles with the glass for a second, spilling a few drops on himself in the process, before he managed to respond with a sharp, "You're not fond of small talk, are you, Potter?"

"It's never been one of my strong suits," says the other man, amusement glittering in his eyes, tugging his lips into a smirk, "but, anyways, I'm curious. Humor me? Please?"

"What is this, interview? I already got the job, Potter, you needn't conduct another one," drawls Draco.

"Please?" repeats Potter.

Draco tells himself that he's only answering the question because the man is his boss, and he wanted to keep his job, thank-you-very-much, but he knows that that's not entirely true. He'd rather be hit with an Avada Kedavra to the chest rather than admit that he's answering because he _wants_ to. He spares a moment to pretend that he's thinking about his answer, but it doesn't matter, he knows exactly why. He's always known why. 

Draco doesn't tell Potter the entire truth, obviously, only a portion of it, "I wanted a measure of control over you..."

"You can have all the control you'd like Malfoy," said Potter after a moment, his voice low, his eyes dark, his lips stretched into an obscenely wide grin. 

He got up from his chair in a fluid motion and slid into Draco's lap, banishing the arms of his chair with the wave of his hand and straddling him. 

Draco felt like someone had doused him cold water. His mouth opened to protest, but Potter began to speak, his voice a sultry rasp against Draco's throat, "Do you know how long I've wanted you? Do you know how long I've wanted you _to take control?_ "

Draco's hips jerked forward at the words, his crotch brushing against Potter in a way that caused the other man to let out a quiet moan. Draco stiffened at the sound, though, because he couldn't possibly be doing this— not with his boss. He tried to pull back but Potter's hands came up around his shoulders, pulling, pulling, pulling, him closer. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears (the same way it had during Sectumsempra, during the Fiendfyre), and all Draco wanted to do was to melt into Potter, but he could not. It was unethical, it was unprofessional, it was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong... 

"Don't you want this too, Draco?" Potter asks, his lips moving up, up, up, plastering kisses to the edge of his jaw.

Draco hears the unmistakable sound of a fly being undone, and he refuses to look down, refuses to catch a glimpse of Potter's cock. Potter's hands slip from his shoulders, finding themselves otherwise occupied, and Draco is so so so tempted to let his own hands join them but he can't, _he can't_.

In the end, when he can't resist the temptation of casting a glance at Potter's cock, it isn't the sight of him wanking that makes him abandon any ethical standards he may have had, it's the words coming out of his mouth that make the decision for him.

"I've wanted you to fuck me for the past two weeks. Ever since your first week on the job, really. All the other assistants only saw who they thought I was, and they were scared, they were starstruck— they could barely do their jobs. But you, Draco, were different.

"You're incredibly sexy, you know that, don't you? And you didn't care who I was— Merlin, I love that about you. The first time you told me to 'Stop fucking around, Potter, and sign those papers' I... I almost came in my pants. I'd let you do anything, Draco. Anything, anything... as long as you fuck me first. You've absolutely ruined me..."

 

It was endearing, wasn’t it? That Potter had clearly thought about him as much as Draco lusted over Potter. He felt his resolve crumbling, perhaps because he adored the flattery more than anything, and his lips gravitated towards any Potter’s— there was no turning back after this.

They kissed, Potter's hand between them which was practically a blur on his cock, their hips shamelessly grinding into each others. Draco had never been so hard in his life. He felt like he could've come without being touched. He wouldn't let himself, though, not when Potter was offering him the best fuck of his life.

"Potter, stop," murmured Draco, his lips at Potter's ears. Potter didn't, couldn't, wouldn't— Draco didn't particularly care. All he knew is that _he_ wanted to be the one to make Potter come.

He repeated himself, allowing the haughty Malfoy edge to creep into his voice, "Potter. Stop."

The other man froze. Eyes—wide, even behind his glasses— locking onto Draco. Draco felt the familiar rush flood through him, the power seeming sweeter now that he knew Potter adored it. 

"Strip and get on the desk," commands Draco, a shiver running through him at the loss of Potter's warmth as he gets off of him, "Don't touch yourself."

Potter lets out groans at that, but obeys— sending another shudder through Draco for an entirely different reason. He can barely believe that one of the most powerful men in the Wizarding World— the Boy Who Lived, the Minister of Magic— is taking orders from him. Draco lounges in his own chair for a few minutes, his own hand lazily stroking his cock through the fabric of his trousers. Potter, who is currently perched up on the desk quite prettily, waits for him patiently.

Draco finally stands when he sees the pure desire in Potter's eyes harden into something more wanting, more desperate, slowly stepping towards him whilst shedding his thick Ministry robes and leaving them in a haphazard heap on the floor next to Potter's. Draco's leanes againsts the desk, his arms bracketing Potter's prone form. He dips his head closer to the man's own, close enough so that he can hear the other man's rapid breathing, and whispers, "Very good, Potter. Tell me more, How exactly did I ruin you?"

Potter's entire body jolts at the praise, and Draco catalogues it for future reference. 

"A few weeks ago, when you took over the staff meeting, you looked so fucking hot. Maybe it was the trousers you were wearing, they were practically painted on— or maybe it was the way your presence commanded the room. We got more done in an hour than we had in the past month before you began working for me..." 

Meanwhile, while Potter is distracted, Draco runs his hands over the other man's thighs, quickly hooking his hands under the knees and propping his legs up on the desk— spreading them as far as possible. He kneels down, looks Potter's cock in the eye, and begins to suck. 

Potter's hips jerk forward, causing Draco to gag for barely a second before he manages to relax his throat. He rests his hands on Potter's hips, though, pinning him to the table so that he can move at his own pace. Potter doesn't seem to mind, judging by words sliding from his lips like a prayer, "Oh, fuck, Malfoy... yes, yes, yes, _yes_ , don't stop."

Malfoy does stop, though, pulling off with a smirk on his face, "Keep talking, Potter, and you'll get more."

"Malfoy, you're such a bastard," whines Potter, but continued anyways, "Last week, I heard you send at least seven Howlers to the Ministry Department Heads. Your voice does this thing when you're angry..."

Draco's mouth slips over Potter's cock once again.

"A day or two before that you stormed into my office demanding that— _ah, yes, just like that_ —I look at my bloody schedule for once because we were already later for three meetings, and the look on your face alone was enough to make me hard..."

A finger probed at Potter's entrance, slick with wandlessly conjured lube and pushing in and out in shallow motions.

"Today, earlier today, you hit me with that Incarcerous and I loved every second of it. I really wouldn't mind if we reenacted that scene again..."

A second finger joined the first.

"And yesterday... yesterday, you— _God, Malfoy just fuck me already!”_

Malfoy chuckled, sending vibrations down Potter's cock and drawing out a long moan from the other man's lips. Draco could hardly wait much longer, though, as his own cock was almost painfully hard.

"Whatever you want, Minister," teases Draco as he stands, pulling out of Potter's arse and off his cock, "You've done so well for me already."

Potter keens at the compliment, as Draco hoped he would. Draco considers drawing this out a bit longer, playing off of Potter's kinks and drawing him to the edge over and over for another hour or so, but Draco thinks that if he's to wait any longer he'll burst. He has to be inside Potter— now. There'll be more time for that later, anyways.

He conjures some more lube, using it to slick his cock before slowly pushing into Potter. Potter keeps making these delicious noises, spurring Draco to begin thrusting into Potter, gaining speed until the noises both of them are making border on obscene. Potter's legs wrap around Draco's waist, allowing Draco to change the angle ever so slightly and in a few moments he's brushing against Potter's prostate with each thrust.

Potter looks beautiful. Eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, in concentration, his face highlighted by the room's dim lighting. Draco kisses him, he can't help it. His lips move against the other man's frantically as they drive each other to completion. Draco's hand finds its way to Potter's cock, and his touch sets off Potter's orgasm. Draco follows suit a few moments after.

Both of them stay like that, their tangled forms leaning against the edge of the Draco's desk, tired once again but blissfully so. Draco slides out of Potter slowly, his hands still clinging to the other man's shoulder's. He hears Potter cast a cleaning charm, and all he really wants is to go to bed.

But it's not his job to think about what he wants, it's his job to think about what the Minister— what Potter— wants. And, thankfully, if he were to judge by the way Potter has nearly melted into him in exhaustion, the Minister wants to go to bed too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/128940.html).


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